Captive Souls
by Pereybere
Summary: When Brennan’s new love interest proves to be a deceitful crook and his plans for wealth turn violent, it’s Booth’s, not Brennan’s neck that’s on the line.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Captive Souls

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the main characters within this story.

**Rating: **This chapter is rated T. Future chapters shall be rated M.

**Summary: **When Brennan's new love interest proves to be a deceitful crook and his plans for wealth turn violent, he's Booth's, not Brennan's neck that's on the line.

**A/N: **Well this is my newest story idea. Filled with angst and action, much like A Dangerous Aficionado, only a lot less clandestine. But, people loved the hero in Booth and so did I – so let me know what you think. Thanks!

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Prologue

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"Is Bones playing with her new friend?" Booth asked, passing his security pass through the decoder, tucking the card into his top pocket, pulling his shoulders back and surveying the scene of quiet scientists, sans Brennan, with acute interest. Only Angela Montenegro looked up, a wavy curtain of black hair hiding her mischievous eyes.

"By 'new friend' I would assuming you mean Professor Franklin?" Angela asked, her fingers smudged with waxy lead.

"By new friend," Booth said, his jaw aching light as he maintained the smile that he'd been forced to show since Brennan decided to get better acquainted with Lewis B. Franklin from Oxford, "I mean exactly that, Angela." Zach slid the broken remnants of a femur into place atop the light table, his brown eyes made enormous by the shielded glasses he wore.

"Rumour has it that she got tired of waiting for a date," he said, his gloved hands moving across the bones with expert precision.

"No," Angela said, "she got tired of the back-and-forth because Booth doesn't have the balls to ask her out."

"Um, hello? I'm still here…" Booth said, waving his hands in front of Angela's eyes, shooting a glare at Zach. "I'm not interested in a date with her. Platonic is a word you guys don't understand." He straightened his tie, arching his neck. "Where did she go, then?" Hodgins, filtering soil through a tiny sieve, shrugged his shoulders beneath his blue lab-coat.

"I personally thought they were headed for bed. She totally digs the accent, man." Booth felt his eyes narrow and while he had convinced himself that his annoyance was due only to how Brennan's afternoon wanderings greatly inconvenienced him, he suspected the squints had different ideas. "Haow naow braown caow and all that," Hodgins continued, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Whatever man," Booth said, recalling with all too perfect clarity exactly how Professor Hawkins had sounded during his lengthy spiel about archaeology in the Middle East which Brennan feigned interest in. How did he know she was just pretending? Because no one with ears could actually listen to him for more than five minutes without lapsing into catatonic depression. "So," Booth continued, "I'll have to wait until she returns from lunch aka bed."

Angela stifled a chuckle. "I'm fairly sure it's just lunch," she said. "For now."

The squint squad were Brennan's personal matchmakers, scouring the city for any suitable candidate. One day it was Booth, the next it was David and then it was Booth again and now it was Hawkins, the perfect partner for Temperance Brennan because he was sophisticated, intelligent and… boring.

Not that Brennan was boring, Booth thought, elbows on the bench. Brennan was actually very interesting, but she tended to feel comforted by those who could effortlessly spurt scientific nonsense. If it weren't so irritating he would have been amused by it. But since it was two thirty and he had a set of two remains waiting to be examined, he found few things funny – least of all Brennan's dysfunctional love life.

"So," he said after a suitable lapse of time had expired, "when is the good doctor going home?" He didn't want to sound aggravated or threatened by the Oxford educated professor. He wasn't.

"Oh sweetie," Angela said, as though she felt a touch of sympathy for his lack of knowledge. "I think Goodman is going to offer him a job. He'd be a valuable asset to the Jeffersonian. He has _extensive_ knowledge of world treasures, with a degree in history and politics." Booth took the news with all the reserved composure of a professionally trained sniper. Yet inwardly, he found himself wondering if Hawkins could use a rifle and, if not, how easy would it be to gun down the annoying son-of-a-bitch.

He dropped his forehead to the counter, inhaling deep, rolling his eyes inwardly. "Well," he said, "yippee."

Angela actually laughed, throwing her head back and drawing curious glances from her two colleagues, who found her joyful chuckles both amusing and surprising. Working within their specialised fields, hired out to the FBI, there was rarely reason to laugh. But Angela was a startling woman – she was easily amused, especially by Booth's plight.

"Booth," she said, scooting her chair towards him, "it's okay to be jealous. He's handsome, intelligent, charming…" she could easily have went on, listing the pros to being with a man like Lewis Franklin. Unfortunately for Booth, he couldn't see through the façade of uptight British roots – and in general, he liked British people. Just not him.

"Jealous? Psssh," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, "no way. Sounds like they're well suited, I'm just frustrated by the bodies I have that need identified." He opened his mouth to continue, certain that he could easily have convinced Angela of his blasé attitude to the new recruit, but Daniel Goodman strode along the metal gangway overhead, his shoes clicking against the metal with a fast paced, furious determination that made Booth slip off their stool and stand straight, much like he did in the military. Goodman just commanded that kind of respect.

He didn't need to take the stairs two at a time to reach the lab in record time, his wide strides brought him face to face with Booth in less than thirty seconds, his black eyes brisk and impatient, cool and emotionless, yet glimmering with something… annoyance? Worry?

"Agent Booth," he said, "glad that you're here. We have a situation, over in Baltimore." Booth slipped his hands into his pockets, quite sure that Goodman should have went through Cullen if his services were required. But he was, in a strange way, fond of the man. He didn't relish pissing him off, either.

"What kind of a situation, sir?" he asked.

"It's about Dr Brennan. She's in danger."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Captive Souls

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, however much I wish they were.

**Rating: **Aw, tame for now. M later.

**A/N: **Well, I hope everyone likes suspense and it seems as though most people do. Let me know if you're enjoying this story because as always, reviews are so welcome!

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Special Agent Seeley Booth had found himself wearing a Kevlar vest for various reasons during his career. But never like today. And his heart had never felt quite so heavy before. The weight of his protective armour pressed heavily on his shoulders, pinching his collar bone, making his skin crawl.

Behind him, flickering blue lights ricocheted off the white buildings, bouncing against his eyes, making his irises sting – for he was afraid to blink in case something critical happened in the millisecond it took.

The Adelaide Building was due for completion in two weeks. By the 31st of August the owners expected to begin the lengthy process of overseeing the new tenants as they moved into brand new premises with plenty of windows and spacious offices. The architects had designed the ten storey building with cost effective elegance in mind. Instead of grey concrete and oppressive steel, the old-fashioned redbrick looked effortlessly chic.

William Tyler, dressed in a navy pinstripe suit and a pristine white shirt rocked on his heels, staring at the top floor with green eyes that depicted bubbling irritation. Perhaps not so much with the authorities as he was with his own site foreman, Derek Patterson.

"How did they get in?" he asked for the seventh countable time. "If you had everything locked up, as per protocol, we wouldn't be in this situation. What kind of publicity do you think _this_ affords us?"

Booth stared at the blackened windows, each one a rounded, open mouth of an endless chasm. He didn't know what lay beyond, or what had transpired that had turned stable, boring Professor Franklin into a kidnapping lunatic. There had been no explanation, only a demand for money. Lots of it.

And the government weren't giving away forty million dollars, just like that, without an explanation. Of course plans were springing up among the hubbub of ways in which they could trick Franklin into believing he had his forty mil while saving Dr Brennan at the same time.

Booth shifted impatiently, the steel barricade swinging against the summer breeze, rattling against its frame. Inside the premises, Bones was being held, lulled into a false sense of security by someone she'd actually liked. Trusted and perhaps even started to feel something for. It tore at his gut.

"Agent Booth?" a hand snagged his arm and when he turned he saw a balding man in an FBI windbreaker. "Cullen says you want to get in, source the place out?" Not a minute too soon. It felt as though the FBI were sitting on their hands, waiting for Franklin to run out of patience and injure her.

"Yes," Booth said, checking his weapon, holstered like a trustee friend to his hip. "Has anyone checked this guy out yet? Do we have _any_ idea why he might have flipped?" The agent lifted his shoulders, palms outstretched as though he were stumped. It didn't surprise Booth, for the majority of his colleagues seemed to be walking about as though they'd lapsed into some kind of slow moving trance. He felt as though he were the only person moving in real time.

"According to Oxford there isn't any Lewis Franklin that studied archaeology there. Now or ever. One word for you buddy, infiltration. But before you go getting all pissed with the FBI, it's the Jeffersonian that brought this guy into their midst. Not us." Booth dipped his head, once, in sharp acknowledgement and an unspoken promise to behave. "Norman is going in with you."

Robert Norman appeared, as if by magic, at his side. Booth felt his jaw stiffen, casting another weary glance at the building, suddenly extensive and permeating an air of danger. They didn't know where Franklin was or eve what he'd done to Brennan. The anxiety ate at him and his spine ached from maintaining a tight stance. "Fine," he said at last. "We should go now. We're wasting time."

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Brennan struggled within the rough linen ties that bound her arms, her screams muffled by the gag that Lewis had wrapped around her mouth.

Tucked into the waistband of his pants she saw the glint of a weapon – one which had been carefully concealed during lunch. Lunch.

She'd told him stories about her adolescence and felt comfortable enough to drink a glass of wine. When the gun came crashing down on her skull, she'd been so surprised that there'd been no time to react. She'd been on her knees in an instant, her vision blurred and her scream muted as he'd bundled her into the back of his car.

Now, as she sat pressed against a newly installed radiator, unable to move, she noticed for the first time, the demented darkness that lingered with Lewis' eyes as he watched the gathering cops from the shadows. He looked crazed, twitchy, incapable of rational thought.

How had she been so foolish to see a stable, likeable man in him? Who was he really and why had he targeted her? Was he really a professor? Did he have knowledge in all the things he'd spoken about earlier? Did he honestly think he would get millions of dollars just to release her?

She ought to have been afraid but she was stronger than what Franklin had anticipated. It took more than a bang on the head to deter her natural instinct to fight. Incapacitated or not, she wasn't going to let him turn her into a victim. Even with the police outside, she was certain she was not going to die at the hands of a mad man, hell bent on making a quick, unlawful buck.

"Hmph…" she murmured, shifting on her ass, her movements leaving tracks on the dusty floor.

"Shut up," Franklin growled, levelling his gaze on her. "I gagged you for a reason you stupid bitch – because I don't want to hear your voice anymore." She should have felt hurt. But the truth was, it came as no surprise that he had never wanted to talk about intelligent things in the first place. She'd long since come to the realisation that she'd been duped.

She pressed the back of her head against the wall, her eyes falling closed as the contemplated what plan of action she could take.

With her feet bound, she had no way out. With a gag on, there was no way to explain to Franklin that, one way or another, he wasn't getting forty million dollars.

In the midst of her contemplation, she heard the clink of metal and her eyes snapped open. Franklin was oblivious, his gaze steadily focused on the commotion out the window. She felt the first stab of panic, wondering what reaction a rescue would have on her captor. When a second noise hung in the air, she slammed her hand against the radiator, a resounding echo shaking through the building.

"Hey, hey!" Franklin snapped, striding towards her. "Shut it!"

When a stinging palm fell against her cheek, her head snapping back against the wall, two thoughts occurred to her;

What had she done to antagonise the Oxford professor, if he was one at all and what would Booth say to her when he realised her love interest was a psychopath?

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Taking it slow folks. Nice and slow.

(It does have a plot and psycho dude does have a motive…)


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